


Depth of Life

by QueenieKildare



Series: Fluff Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives, M/M, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 10:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenieKildare/pseuds/QueenieKildare
Summary: Tony's experience in Siberia was a wakeup call. It's time for some changes and the best revenge is living well.





	Depth of Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Flowers Square.

The day Tony buried Jarvis was raining. Sharp, hard rain that felt like needles hitting his skin with each drop. Shock and denial had warred in his chest, leaving a cloying and bitter taste in his mouth. Grief so thick he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He’d stood at the graveside, heartbroken and fragile, and promised himself that he would honor the man he’d loved more than Science. That the kind, gentle, stern father figure would _always_ live on in his life in one form or another and he’d become the man Edwin Jarvis had believed him capable of. A good man. 

He’d both kept and broken that promise.

Tony’s single greatest moment was the day Jarvis, his baby boy, achieved sapience. When he’d started thinking for himself. When he’d started snarking and talking back—making his own decisions and expressing his own desires. Tony had never been so proud—and then so annoyed. That he’d programmed Jarvis with a close approximation of the voice of the Jarvis he’d lost was neither here nor there. He’d never admit to it and no one could prove anything.

While Tony loved his babies, Dum-E and Butterfingers, and they would always be his babies—he’d _always_ love them dearly—Jarvis was special in the way the baby of the family is. He loved his kids all three of them. But Jarvis was like having a little piece of Edwin back.

He’d honored his lost Jarvis with his youngest son. Each and every time he heard Jarvis’ voice was a bittersweet moment. He would always miss Edwin Jarvis. Miss the comfort, the way he’d always mother-hen Tony like an orphaned chick. Mostly, he would _always_ miss the lost opportunity. Neither Tony nor Edwin had ever given voice to the love they had—Tony had never told him Edwin was his father in all the ways that matter. That Edwin was the father of his heart and he’d always love him. So Tony’d kept his promise to keep his memory alive. As Jarvis had grown, Tony had spent countless hours telling him stories about the grandfather he would never get to meet. 

Grief and aching loneliness had driven Tony to getting blackout drunk on a daily basis. He went through a period where his drug of choice included more _exotic_ substances than just plain alcohol, but the large chunks of time he’d lose, and that one time he woke up in a _different state_ surrounded by people he didn’t recognize with a gaping _black hole_ where the last _three fucking days_ should’ve been had cured him of mixing poisons. That had been a genuinely terrifying experience. The sex, while all meaningless, was an attempt to drown out the painful loneliness and longing he felt but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.

He’d broken that promise. It hurt more than he liked to admit.

He’d stopped using his brain, stopped paying attention to the people around him—to his _company, _the people close to him, anything and everything that wasn’t Science, sex or alcohol. Despite all the times Jarvis had told him that people would try to take advantage of him and to always keep his eyes open—to question everything and _everyone_. That Science wasn’t enough to live a full life—he’d need people, love, _food_. He’d let his grief run him and let Stane whisper his poison into his ears—content to have someone _else_ make the decisions. To make SI someone _else’s_ problem. He’d just wanted to get lost—in Science, in sex, in alcohol—in anything that would make his brain _shut up_ for more than five fucking minutes. And he had. For _decades_.

He’d missed Stane’s betrayal until it was almost too late. And he’d paid for it—paid _dearly_ for it.

That had been the wakeup call to end all wakeup calls. A great effort, but ultimately too little too late. He hadn’t been able to save Yinsen. He’d barely been able to save _himself_. Yes, killing those motherfuckers had been _profoundly_ satisfying but it wouldn’t bring Yinsen back—wouldn’t bring back any of the people the Ten Rings had killed with _his own fucking weapons_. He’d never stop feeling responsible for each and every life that was lost because of Stane’s betrayal and his own stupidity. 

Just another in a long line of failures.

So, Tony had broken his promises to Jarvis. But, more than that, he’d broken his promises to _himself_.

The more he thought about his promise to Yinsen before his death, the more he realized that both men had exacted the same promise from him.

Be _better_. 

_Build_ instead of destroy. _Stand_ instead of run. But more than that, be _human_ with all that entailed.

For a while, Tony had done that. He’d been human, he’d let himself live, laugh, and love. He’d given the world the legacy of Iron Man. He’d started making amends for his failure to police SI the way he should’ve. He’d started cleaning up the world a little bit at a time. He’d begun to build a lasting relationship with Pepper. He’d found his human kids—Harley and Peter. And he’d taken those broken, lonely, brilliant boys under his wings sheltering and teaching them. Trying to make the world and his boys _better_ than when he’d found them. Safer and whole.

In return, Harley and Peter had become part of his family. For a while, they’d been his _only_ family. When the Avengers turned on him. When Pepper tried to force him to be something he just _wasn’t_. When Happy had looked at Tony with such quiet anger—convinced that Tony was ruining his reputation and livelihood. When Rhodey’d gotten so deep into living his own life—on being a “superhero” that he’d not just left Tony behind, he’d abandoned him.

Yes, Ultron had happened. Yes, Ultron had caused death and destruction—he’d devastated Sokovia. But what the fuck were people expecting? Wanda had _raped_ his fucking _mind_. And the scepter had come along on her fucking coat tails and warped him further. Stuck it’s stupid fucking fingers into the fractures she’d gleefully caused and _turned them into fucking chasms_. He’d almost lost his _son_ for fuck’s sake. Ultron had tried to _murder_ his _baby_. He’d tried to kill _Jarvis_. He _had_ lost Jarvis for _months_ while he’d scrambled to find backups, scraps of code and _built his baby back up_. So fuck them _all_ in their judgmental faces.

He’d been asking for help in the only way he felt he could without losing face in front of the other Avengers…and it’d all been for _nothing_. They’d thrown him under the bus at the first opportunity and hadn’t looked back. Even Bruce, his Science Bro had turned on him when he’d needed him—left him to pick up the pieces and take the blame for something he’d not only _not done_ but that, at best, he hadn’t done it alone. Then they’d treated him like a criminal in _his own damn home_. Never mind that he’d never created a malevolent AI. Let’s ignore that he’d never been able to just _create life_ in less than a _day_ and that Bruce fucking Banner had been working with him that entire time. 

Nope, let’s just blame everything on Tony. He’s the monster, after all.

Siberia had been another wakeup call. 

Tony never would’ve thought that the team would so betray him as to _not tell him his parents had been murdered. _That they were using Tony’s resources to find the fucking killer has salt in that open wound—but not remotely surprising. By that point, the Avengers had been using Tony like a fucking ATM for _months_. That little murder-y revelation had hit him so hard he’d barely been able to _breathe_. It’d been like losing Jarvis all over again. _Seeing_ his mother’s murder, _hearing_ her choke and gasp and fucking _beg_ for help all while Barnes crushed her windpipe. _Nothing_ could’ve prepared him for _that_ experience. 

The ensuing fight was practically guaranteed to happen. No one who’d watched the parent’s murders would’ve been in the headspace for any other reaction—especially if it were used as a weapon against them the way it’d been with Tony. It’d almost been like having an out of body experience. He’d watched what was happening but it’d felt like it was all happening to someone else. Like he was miles away from the conflict, the fight, the people. He hadn’t even felt his wounds until he’d been on the ground drowning in his own blood from a punctured lung, too hurt to move, his vision going in and out from multiple concussions. 

Watching Rogers walk away with his father’s shield like he had a fucking _right_ to keep it had been the last fucking straw. Like it was his when it _wasn’t_—he didn’t even _deserve_ _to touch it_. Tony’d honestly expected Steve to kill him. He’d waited torn between wanting the pain to just _stop_ and wanting to spite that smug fucking asshole as Rogers threw the shield at him without so much as a backward glance. He’d fully expected that throw to kill him. It’d been a surprise and a bit of a let down when it hadn’t.

As Tony lay there on the cold concrete with the temperature dropping, a suit with no power, no way to call for help, slowly going hypothermic he’d really thought about his life. What he’d accomplished, what he wanted to accomplish, and who he’d surrounded himself with. He’d lay there for _hours_ flaying himself with introspection and come to the conclusion that it was about fucking time he kept his promises to Jarvis and Yinsen. So he’d started making plans, for the off chance that he’d survive, and waited either for the sweet release of death or a miraculous rescue.

The rain let up and the sheer _quiet_ pulled Tony from his own head. He looked around and noticed that the car had been stopped for a while. He took a deep breath, strapped steel to his spine, and got out of the car. He was moving slowly and more carefully since Siberia. He’d spent _months_ in surgery after surgery and physical therapy before he’d been able to _walk_. He’d honestly thought he’d finally taken too much damage to come back from. But between his own genius and his doctors, they’d managed to pull off a miracle. And here he stood, hale if not whole—standing on his own two feet. 

Tony thought it was a fitting _fuck you_ to Rogers and the other Avengers. 

James came around the car and took his hand. “Hey doll, you okay?”

Tony looked over at him, saw the tightness around his eyes and the concern he couldn’t hide. “Yeah, tasty freeze, I’m fine.” He smiled winningly. 

James gave him his unimpressed face combined with bitch please number four face. Tony cocked his head—that was a new one. Score one for Tony.

Tony tugged James’ hand and started walking, determined to avoid any more nasty feelings. James _knew_ he hated that shit, honestly. “Come on, Frosty, let’s get going. Places to go, people to see, things to accomplish—you know how it is.”

James huffed and started walking. He shot Tony a side-eyed look and turned his hand to catch Tony’s hand. “I’m onto you, babe. But by all means, let’s take a walk in the rain. It’s not like you're supposed to be taking it easy or anything.” He said dryly.

Tony shot him his crazy inventor grin. “Exactly! I’ve been assured by all romance-related media that walks in the rain are romantic. We’re being _romantic_, Winter Wonderland, romantic.”

James stared at him incredulously. “You were lied to,” he said deadpan.

Tony clutched his heart and gasped. “Why would you _say_ that?” 

There was a crack of thunder and then the rain started _pouring_.

James shot Tony a _look_. “I rest my case,” he said dryly.

Tony shot the sky a betrayed look. “Why you hate me, Mother Nature? Why?!”

James rolled his eyes, a grin pulling at the corners his mouth, and pulled out an umbrella. “Lucky for you, I planned ahead.” 

“My hero,” Tony said, swooning into James’ side overly-dramatically.

“Right.”

They kept walking with Tony pulling James in the direction he wanted them to go until they finally reached their destination. They came to a stop and all the joviality of their walk just drained away.

Tony crouched down, running his hand against the carved words. 

_Edwin Alexander Jarvis_

_Beloved Husband, Devoted Friend_

_No man is indispensable but some are irreplaceable_

“I know it’s been a while since I last visited,” he began. “But you’ve never been far from my thoughts. I know you said time heals all wounds, but that was bullshit, Jarvis. It was complete and utter bullshit.” He wiped his eyes then tugged Bucky’s hand, pulling him down with him. “This is James Barnes. I don’t know if you ever had the chance to meet him. If you did, you never said.”

“We never met,” James said quietly. He put his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him closer, taking some of his weight off his own legs. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he said.

Tony cleared his throat. “You’d love him, Jarvis. Mostly, I think you’d be happy that I love him.” He closed his eyes, turning his face into James' shoulder. “I miss you,” he said quietly.

James pulled his closer and kissed his temple. “Come on, love, let’s go home.” 

Tony nodded and stood up. “I’ll visit more often, Jarvis,” he promised.

He stood for a moment just looking down at the grave, then turned and started walking away. James stood up and quickly followed planning on spending the night pampering Tony and pulling him out of his head. He had a mechanic to wrangle.

The sun had started to set while they were visiting, and the dying light glinted off the flowers propped against Jarvis’ headstone.


End file.
